#AmericanWriters #CommonMeasure #Epigram
10 My wheel is in the dark! I cannot see a spoke Yet know its dripping feet Go round and round.
450 Dreams—are well—but Waking’s bett… If One wake at morn— If One wake at Midnight—better— Dreaming—of the Dawn—
897 How fortunate the Grave— All Prizes to obtain— Successful certain, if at last, First Suitor not in vain.
684 Best Gains’—must have the Losses’… To constitute them’—Gains’—
894 Of Consciousness, her awful Mate The Soul cannot be rid— As easy the secreting her Behind the Eyes of God.
753 My Soul—accused me—And I quailed… As Tongue of Diamond had reviled All else accused me—and I smiled— My Soul—that Morning—was My frie…
723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—
421 A Charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld— The Lady dare not lift her Veil For fear it be dispelled—
915 Faith’—is the Pierless Bridge Supporting what We see Unto the Scene that We do not’— Too slender for the eye
312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,
962 Midsummer, was it, when They died… A full, and perfect time— The Summer closed upon itself In Consummated Bloom—
Not any sunny tone From any fervent zone Find entrance there - Better a grave of Balm Toward human nature’s home -
134 Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower… But I could never sell— If you would like to borrow, Until the Daffodil
760 Most she touched me by her mutenes… Most she won me by the way She presented her small figure— Plea itself—for Charity—
369 She lay as if at play Her life had leaped away— Intending to return— But not so soon—